Page 20 of Carry Me Home

‘It’s not—’ I start, and then stop, because I don’t know what it’s not. Not about the dog. Not about Tom asking when I’m coming home and the silence that came after, the one I could feel him holding his breath inside. Not about any single thing I could point to and say this.

‘The café needs opening,’ I say instead. ‘I’ve left it too long. And I miss my friends. I want to see Isla grow with her baby blooming, and Brynn’s taking over the harbour like a firebrand.’

‘Nina.’ Mum sets down her mug. Crosses the kitchen. Takes my face in her hands – her palms rough from years of café work, warm from the tea. ‘You don’t have to list reasons.’

‘I feel like I do.’

‘You don’t.’ She smooths my hair back from my face. ‘You came here because you needed to. You’re going back because you’re ready. That’s enough.’

‘Is that why you left?’ The question comes out before I can stop it. ‘Sea Salt Bay. Were you just … ready?’

Her hands still on my hair. A shadow chases across her face – complicated, old.

‘I left because I couldn’t breathe there anymore,’ she says. Her thumb traces a line across the tabletop, back and forth, the only fidget she allows herself. ‘Your dad was in everything. Every corner, every boat in the harbour, every sunrise. I couldn’t look at any of it without seeing him. And staying still meant feeling it.’

The kitchen is quiet. Just the two of us and the heat and the toast going cold on the counter.

‘I’m going back.’

‘I know.’ She smiles, and the space behind my ribs tightens. ‘But I want to talk to you first. Sit.’

She points a finger at the kitchen table, which can only be bad news. The café downstairs should be opening, she’s got cake stands to organise, but she wants me to sit. My arse drops to the chair.

‘Nina,’ she starts.

‘Mum.’

Her sigh is heavy. ‘You miss him, I know.’

I’m instantly ready to spring. Run. In my head I count boots coming off the boat. See the faces. Jude. Tom. Cal. Kit.

That breath I pocketed the night of the storm, the night Peter didn’t come back, pulsates near my heart.

‘Mum.’ Not a statement this time.

Her hand brushes through her silver-streaked hair. ‘Who are you, Nina Ellis?’

My stare wanders from her hair to her face. ‘What do you mean? I’m Nina, your daughter. I’m the same I’ve always been.’

She shakes her head. My stomach drops. I know where this is going.

‘Tell me who you were before Peter.’

‘Mum, there is no “before Peter”. Peter was everything, but then he died.’

Her cool hand reaches for mine, smooth fingers sliding across my skin and grasping firm.

‘I remember a Nina Ellis from before Peter. She laughed, baked, she wanted to take her gran’s old café and make it something that people would never forget, wanted to make it grow, make lavender the only colour that people remembered when they visited Sea Salt Bay.’

I breathe. My breath tastes of loss and longing, not just for Peter and the future I thought we might have. But also for that Nina, the one who loved lavender. Had dreams.

‘I don’t know where she is,’ I whisper.

Mum’s hand squeezes mine. ‘Maybe it’s time to find her.’

I shake my head, the motion mechanical, automatic. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

She’s quiet for a moment. Then: ‘Do you remember that amethyst necklace Gran left you? The little star. You were so gutted when you lost it. Turned the cottage upside down for weeks.’